*Featured image courtesy of Peter Forster on Unsplash*
Today we have an excellent horror piece by Tom Misuraca. We don’t get a lot of horror, so this is a welcome treat on FC. Tom is also a prolific writer, so we hope to see more from him in the future!
The decrepit station wagon sped out of town. Russell clutched the wheel, squeezing until his biceps bulged. Next to him sat his wife, Trudy, her flesh and clothes caked in mud. Her long, curly hair frizzed by the swamp humidity. Russell felt immaculate compared to her; only his boots were dirty.
“It is done,” Trudy repeated over and over, rocking in her seat.
They drove away from the sun and away from the evil presence that had haunted them. Russell feared they would never escape. This wickedness stretched beyond evil towns and evil residents. Never resting until it destroyed them both.
They had half a tank of gas and Russell had no intention of stopping until it was empty.
“I can still see his face,” Trudy cried. “It was horrible.”
They had lived in that town for three months. A tip about refinery work led Russell there, and they quickly set up residence. The townspeople welcomed Trudy with open arms.
But something was wrong. When the residents wished her “Good morning,” it sounded like they were wishing her harm. Whenever she walked through town, all eyes were on her. Piercing her. If her eyes met theirs, they smiled. But this showing of teeth reminded her of dogs on the verge of attack.
Even church felt wrong. Nobody made eye contact with anybody. There was a silence that was more fearful than pious. And when prayers were recited, their tone was more mocking than praising.
Trudy dared not mention anything to Russell. Again.
Then, on one lovely summer afternoon, while she was shopping downtown, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. A shadow. And within it, floating red eyes. Threatening.
Trudy watched the bluish, black smoke curl out of one person and swirl into another. Entering them like a spirit. A dark spirit. Once inside, their faces contorted with hatred. Even in the safety of a warm day, it was terrifying.
There was no doubt, this was Satan’s shadow.
She feared her husband wouldn’t believe her. Think she’d gone crazy. Again. But when he came home that evening, he saw how jittery his wife was.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“This town,” she whispered, “is cursed.”
To her surprise Russell didn’t tell her she was acting foolishly. Instead, he said, “I know.”
Trudy told him what she witnessed.
“We must get out now,” Trudy cried. “Before Satan enters us.”
“Stay strong,” Russell begged her. “A few more months is all we’ll need for a new start.”
Russell had been saving his pennies in an old cigar box in hopes of escaping to somewhere secluded. Somewhere safe. If there were such a place.
Trudy isolated herself in their home. Hiding from the evil of the town. Russell did the shopping and made excuses for her at church. Trudy hated him going there.
“If we were both absent,” Russell reminded her, “there’d be talk.”
Trudy prayed Russell was stronger than her.
The only joy in Trudy’s life was working in her garden. Flowers were God’s gifts, and they made this ugly place more beautiful.
Occasionally she’d see one of the neighborhood boys walking out of the woods that led to the swamp. She did her best to ignore them, or at the least give them a polite nod.
One day she saw River, a skinny thirteen-year-old, strolling along the path. Behind him, the dark shadow with the ruby eyes lurked. It enveloped River and seeped into his skin. His face writhed as evil took hold of his soul and filled his body with sinful lust.
Instinctively, Trudy bolted towards him. She grabbed him by his tank top and pulled him into the woods. The boy was so surprised, he didn’t struggle as she dragged him toward the swamp. With all her strength, she tossed him into the stagnant pond.
He fought to escape, but she held his head under the water. Shouting out every prayer she’d ever heard.
The boy’s eyes opened. They were the familiar piercing red. But for once, fearful. She’d caught the demon off-guard. Satan’s grip would loosen on this town.
The boy ceased struggling. His body went limp. Trudy held him there longer. Waiting.
No shadow rose out of the water. It was defeated.
By the time Trudy returned home, her husband was there. Shocked to see his wife wet and muddied.
“It is done,” Trudy told her husband.
Russell put on his boots and ran to the swamp to find the body. With a worried sigh, he waded into the water and made sure the boy wouldn’t be found too soon.
He returned to the house, grabbed the cigar box and threw some clothes and their most prized possessions into the station wagon. He raced them out of town. Again.
“It is done,” Trudy repeated.
“Yes,” Russell agreed. “It is done.”
Tom Misuraca studied Writing, Publishing and Literature at Emerson College in his home town of Boston before moving to Los Angeles. Over 130 of his short stories and two novels have been published. His story, Giving Up The Ghosts, was published in Constellations Journal, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. His work has recently appeared in Juste, Meniscus and Metonym Literary Journals. He is also a multi-award winning playwright with over 150 short plays and 13 full-lengths produced globally. His musical, Geeks!, was produced Off-Broadway in May 2019. www.tommiz.com
